The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  Wulfgar screwed up his face as he thought about Edgar’s offer. Belwynn doubted whether the High-Priest really wanted many of his brethren to go on this expedition; he had already lost a good number of his priests today, and there was every chance that whoever accompanied them would not come back. He needed all the help he could get to rebuild his ravaged community.

  Eventually, he nodded his consent. ‘I have a volunteer, Your Highness, an initiate named Dirk who recently came to us from the Empire. He is healthy and able to defend himself. He may be of help to your cousins.’

  Wulfgar pointed to the priest he had nominated. Belwynn looked him over: he was unremarkable, thin and shorter than average height.

  I can’t see him being much help, she informed her brother.

  Soren grinned at the comment. Who knows?

  The prince was speaking again. ‘I have come to an agreement with Elana. I feel that her powers will be of help to you, Soren, and she is as desperate as anyone here to recover the dagger from the Brasingians. I have therefore agreed that she will accompany you, on the condition that, when the mission is over, whether it be a success or a failure, she returns to the custody of the Church of Toric in order that her sentence be carried out.’

  Otha and Wulfgar cried out in protest, but Edgar was in no mood for further debate.

  ‘I want you to leave right now,’ he told the twins.

  Once the decisions had been made, things moved quickly, and it was only minutes later that they found themselves in the courtyard of Edgar’s hall, horses saddled and provisions prepared.

  ‘If you recover the dagger there will be handsome individual rewards for everyone who took part,’ Edgar announced. ‘In the meantime, I am giving Soren enough money to cover any expenses which may occur.’

  Edgar led Belwynn and Soren over to one side and handed the wizard a bag of money.

  ‘There’s Imperial thalers there as well. Use it all if you have to. It is the dagger that is important. Losing the dagger is not going to help my situation here in Magnia, and I have had to cross Rystham today. There may even be an army headed this way, though I doubt it. It looks like this Gervase Salvinus had a specific mission here.’

  ‘Your Highness, I am sorry to intrude.’

  It was Farred, who had company.

  ‘What is it, Farred?’ asked Edgar.

  ‘You will recall my friend, Gyrmund. He is well travelled around Dalriya and would like to offer his skills to help your cousins. I can vouch for his honesty.’

  ‘Well,’ said Edgar, ‘that’s very good of you, Gyrmund. I thank you. Soren, what do you think?’

  ‘What can you do?’ Belwynn asked the man bluntly.

  ‘I know my way through the Wilderness, which is where I would guess the Brasingians are heading. I tracked them here, and I can pick up their trail again with no difficulty. I am an expert with the longbow,’ he said, patting the weapon which was slung across his back, ‘and I can fight.’

  Well? Belwynn asked her brother.

  I don’t see why not, he replied.

  ‘It sounds like you might be useful,’ Belwynn told the man. ‘We could do with your help.’ She turned back to Edgar. ‘We should make a move now.’

  The Prince nodded and pulled Farred aside to speak with Ealdnoth.

  Gyrmund and the twins mounted their horses and trotted over to where the other members of the party waited. Clarin was having a conversation with the monk, Dirk, though Toric only knew about what. Elana waited to one side, in silence.

  As Soren and Clarin led the party of six out of the courtyard, Gyrmund said a quick farewell to Farred.

  Belwynn drew up with the two priests.

  ‘I want you two to know,’ she told them, ‘if you fall behind, we leave you. I’m not going to let either of you put the rest of us in danger.’

  Horseshoes. Hammer and nails. Pokers. Plough blades. Locks and keys. Cartwheels. Files and chisels. All very good. All very well and good, and Ulf could do a wonderful job of making all of those. But armour? Spears and war-axes? No. Swords? Really fine swords, works of art that could be passed down the generations? No-one was ordering those anymore, and Rabigar had had enough.

  Peace had come to Magnia at last. It was an idea that was disputed, of course. He still heard dire warnings about the North Magnians. Prince Cerdda and his brother were plotting this or that attack. People needed an enemy to talk about, to scare each other about. But blade-smiths were always the first to know when peace had come. People stopped buying weapons.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Ulf was working hard as usual, powerful shoulders hammering away at the anvil.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Rabigar shouted.

  Ulf stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you need a hand? Quite a few orders in, I see.’

  ‘Nah, nothing that would interest you, master. You have a rest.’

  ‘Oh. Right then.’

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  He was a good boy, Ulf. Or young man now. Hard worker. Respectful. Grateful. But by the gods, did he piss Rabigar off when he treated him like a hoary relic. He headed for the exit from the forge.

  ‘Master Rabigar?’

  Bareva, Ulf’s wife. She came waddling into the forge, her pregnant belly now much more of a hindrance than it had been a few weeks ago. She was a big woman, not that much smaller than Ulf, and it had taken a while for the baby in her belly to show.

  ‘There you are. Customer asking for you.’

  ‘Right you are. Thank you, Bareva. You can tell ‘em to come in.’

  Asking for me, thought Rabigar. Dare I hope?

  A tall, powerfully-built man strode into the forge as if he owned the place.

  ‘Herin? Good to see you.’

  ‘Rabigar,’ said Herin, clasping hands and shouting over the noise of Ulf’s hammering. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Boy, she’s looking big now, isn’t she?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of Bareva, who had left the forge.

  ‘Aye. Parents like that, baby’s gonna be a monster, isn’t it? Well, I’m hoping you’ve got a job for me.’

  ‘Business slow?’

  ‘Nah. Business isn’t slow. Our lad,’ he said, indicating Ulf over at the anvil, ‘is very busy. Just nothing in the way of blade-work.’

  ‘Good. Well, I had a very special favour to ask, and sounds like you might be willing to help me out.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You won’t have heard what’s gone on at Toric’s Temple?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Attacked this morning by twenty-odd soldiers, from the Empire. Broke in and took Toric’s Dagger. Worst part about it, I guess, is that Edgar was there when it happened. He’s alright, though.’

  Rabigar whistled at the news. ‘Wait a minute. You’re not asking me to make a new Dagger, are you? I mean, I know I’m good, but...’

  Herin laughed.

  ‘No. I’m leading the rescue mission for it, though. I need to set off as soon as possible and we need some emergency supplies.’

  ‘Weapons?’

  ‘Yes; only two. One, for a friend—a knife with a sharp point. She likes to throw it.’

  ‘Does she now? Got a nice balanced one she can have.’

  ‘Thought you might. Two, for me. I lost my seax.’

  ‘Careless.’

  ‘Well, let’s just say a little adventure down in Cordence went a bit wrong. Thing is, I really need a replacement by the end of the day. Can you do it?’

  ‘I can do it, Herin. But it will be a day-crafted seax, not a week crafted one like the last.’

  ‘A day-crafted one by you is still as good as a week-crafted one from anyone else. I can pay you double. Our little adventure in Cordence wasn’t entirely a loss, though we seem to have somewhat less than I thought we might.’

  ‘You can pay me normal rates. I’ll enjoy doing it. Might well be the last one I make here.’

  ‘Last one? Are you serious?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Time for me to move on. When I fi
rst came to Magnia I was recruited personally by Prince Edric. The south was pretty desperate at that point, and I was needed to ensure that the army was at least properly armed. He turned things around and they fought themselves to a draw and a sort of peace. I’ve got nothing against Edgar, but he’ll never appreciate me in the same way as his father. For him, I’ve always been here; he’s known no different. Anyway, I’m a weapons-maker, Herin, and there’s no great call for it here anymore. But there’s plenty of demand for it elsewhere. I’ve had offers.’

  ‘I’m not surprised you’ve had offers to go elsewhere. And I’m sure you’d get paid a lot more, too.’

  ‘That’s right and money’s important. It’s important to everyone, of course. But when you’re a Krykker living with humans you really need it. No real family, no real ties. Someone decides they don’t like you around anymore, you have to be able to leave everything behind, fast. I know, it’s happened to me more than once.’

  Rabigar looked around at his forge.

  ‘Plus, the boy, Ulf. Young man, I should say. He’s more than ready to take this place over now. He’s starting a family, needs the money. The timing’s right.’

  Herin looked thoughtful. ‘Where will you go? Empire?’

  ‘I’ve had offers. The agents of Duke Emeric have come calling.’

  ‘I bet they have. Plenty of soldiers to arm in Barissia.’

  ‘I don’t know, though. Sentimental, you might think. But I like to think I’m arming the good men.’

  Herin shrugged. ‘The good men. In my experience the good men are the ones asking for their plough to be fixed, not the ones asking for a hundred spears. But I’m not pretending to be the best person to judge. I’m just thinking, Rabigar. You’re handy with a weapon yourself. I can tell.’

  ‘Of course. When I was younger I was as fearsome as they come.’

  ‘Then come with us. Edgar is offering a reward to all who take part. Looks like we’re heading towards the Empire. You could stay there, or move on somewhere else if it doesn’t feel right.’

  Rabigar puffed his cheeks out. Tomorrow. After all the years working in this forge, just to up and leave tomorrow, leave it all behind? That would be a hasty decision. But why did it sound so tempting?

  ‘I don’t know, Herin. You haven’t given me much warning.’

  ‘I know, I haven’t. Not for the sword, either. Tell you what, Rabigar. Make me one last weapon. And while you’re making it, think it over. Sleep on it, if I’ve left you any time for sleep. When I come to collect it first thing in the morning, you can leave with me, or not. How does that sound?’

  Rabigar nodded, pursing his lips as he thought through the offer. ‘I’ll think on it, Herin. Thanks for the offer. I’ll think on it and let you know tomorrow.’

  6

  A Miracle

  SO FAR, SO GOOD, considered Belwynn.

  As Gyrmund had claimed, it hadn’t taken long to pick up the trail again, and he had the party travelling at a pace that ate up the miles without exhausting the horses. These were roads and paths familiar not only to Gyrmund, but to Belwynn, Soren and Clarin also, and they felt confident that they would make ground on the Brasingians, who would have been less familiar with the territory.

  This part of Magnia was prime arable farming land, and they passed through one well-organised village after another, well-tended fields that promised a good harvest. All the farming folk of Magnia followed the same seasonal routine. Belwynn knew it well. Their father had owned a number of estates, and Soren still had one of them, a village called Beckford. Belwynn had lived there by herself for a year and, without much else to do, had got involved in the day-to-day running of the estate: organising the labour, maintaining and upgrading the equipment, trying to improve yields. This time of year, early summer, was hay-making season, a big job which would require the whole village. The crop fields just had to be looked after and weeded until harvest time in late summer.

  When they passed anyone, on the roads or in a village, one of them would offer a quick greeting and ask what they knew of the Brasingians who had passed through. Many had seen them, and the collective opinion of South Magnia appeared to be that they were about five hours ahead.

  As for the two priests, they didn’t say a word, to each other or to anyone else. Belwynn was used to riding, but she noticed that Elana, in particular, was already showing signs of being saddle-sore. The priestess did not complain, however, and seemed eager to keep up the pace of the pursuit.

  As they progressed, they came upon the first patches of woodland which would thicken and become the Wilderness.

  The group stopped only once during the day to rest, but as the daylight began to fade, Soren called a halt to the chase.

  ‘We have to give Herin a chance to catch up to us. There is little point in risking one of the horses in this light. It will give us a bit of time to make a decent camp-site.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Gyrmund, ‘let me pick out a good spot, then.’

  As everyone began to make a camp a few metres from the road, Belwynn walked over to speak to Gyrmund, who was building a shelter for the night while the others fetched firewood and other materials.

  ‘How far away do you think we are?’

  ‘About five hours still. They’re travelling just as fast as we are; they’re not stupid. As soon as they’ve left Magnia they’ll begin to feel safe.’

  ‘Do you think we can catch them up?’

  ‘That depends,’ he said with a grunt, shoving a log up against the tree trunk he had picked out for the camp. ‘They’re not making their route obvious; they could be heading to Cordence or the Wilderness. We’ll find that out in the morning. I think Salvinus will choose the Wilderness. A large force wouldn’t be able to follow them there without stirring up the vossi. He could be relying on that to avoid an army coming after them.’

  ‘The vossi. I’ve never seen one. Don’t wish to, either.’

  ‘I’ve had a few encounters,’ said Gyrmund, now stacking branches against one side of the log to make a walled shelter. Belwynn began to help. ‘They’re strange. Not what you might expect. Usually, they don’t attack unless they feel threatened. But if they do, it’s an all-out attack that doesn’t stop. With a group our size, they’re likely to just leave us alone.’

  ‘That makes me feel a bit better. I was trying to think from their perspective. Whoever planned this, that is. If they choose to go to Cordence, there’s always the possibility that the Cordentines will interfere on the side of Edgar somehow. If they get through the Wilderness, they’re home.’

  ‘True. I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Why? We don’t want to go into the Wilderness, do we?’

  ‘Yes, we do. If they choose Cordence, we’re still five hours behind them. If they choose the Wilderness I can catch them up.’

  ‘You’re pretty sure of yourself.’

  Gyrmund shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face. ‘I’ve been through the Wilderness a number of times. Not many other people have. If one of those Brasingians knows the place too, fair enough. But it’s not very likely.’

  ‘If no-one else would want to go in there, why have you?’

  ‘To test myself,’ he said, his half-smile turning into a grin.

  ‘To test yourself,’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘What kind of a crazy person would do that?’

  He laughed, holding out his hand.

  ‘Gyrmund. Pleased to meet you.’

  Belwynn shook hands, shaking her head as she did.

  Elana and Dirk came back to the camp with an armful of sticks each, which they dropped down by the proposed site of the fire. Following behind came Soren, who had collected some stones for the fire pit.

  ‘Gyrmund reckons that we’re about five hours behind,’ Belwynn explained to the others. ‘If we enter the Wilderness tomorrow morning Herin won’t be able to catch us up.’

  ‘He’ll catch up,’ answered Clarin, barging into camp with a clump of green branches he had chopped off. When
ready, he would add them to Gyrmund’s structure to create a bit of waterproofing and insulation. The fact that Clarin never seemed to experience anxiety of any kind annoyed Belwynn, who often found herself worrying twice as hard about things in order to make up for it.

  ‘Well, he’s your brother,’ she said.

  Clarin just chuckled. As he and Gyrmund finished off the shelter, the others gathered round to get the fire ready.

  ‘So... Dirk. Wulfgar said that you were from the Empire—whereabouts, exactly?’ asked Belwynn, trying to start a conversation.

  ‘I’m from Barissia. A town called Magen, near Coldeberg.’

  ‘What made you come to Magnia and join the Temple of Toric?’ probed Belwynn.

  ‘Serving Toric is the highest honour one can have,’ Dirk replied, jutting his chin out somewhat.

  Belwynn noticed Elana frowning at that comment, but the priestess said nothing.

  ‘I am under His direction,’ Dirk continued. ‘He has chosen me to return the Dagger to its rightful place.’

  It wasn’t really a satisfactory explanation, as far as Belwynn was concerned, and she sensed that Dirk wasn’t too comfortable with the questioning. Whether he had something to hide or whether he was a private person, it wasn’t easy to say. She supposed that being a Brasingian may not have made him too popular back at the Temple, and he was perhaps a bit nervous on that score.

  ‘How about you, Elana? Where are you from?’

  ‘Kirtsea. It’s a fishing village, just north of the border in North Magnia.’

  Belwynn nodded. ‘I’ve heard of it, never been there. Nice place?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Do you have family there?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve had to give up a lot to serve Madria. I hope that one day I can go back.’

  Another cryptic response, thought Belwynn. Maybe that’s just priests.

  ‘Where is your home?’ asked Elana.

  Belwynn thought about it. Our home?

  ‘Soren owns an estate called Beckford, right in the middle of South Magnia.’

  ‘We both own it,’ said Soren.